John Chyriwsky

Category: Flash Fiction

The body lay twitching on the raised platform. The head, now severed, rolled out of it’s black cloth bag, and rested, eyes staring right at me. God is great, God is great the crowd roared in approval. Inside the head dress covering my face, a hot tear rolled down my cheek. It was anything but great. If I think back, it was about … Continue reading The Purpose